Leave Her to Her Game
by Skinnyblackgirl
Summary: By day, Sarella Sand is the privileged daughter of a Summer Isles heiress & Prince Oberyn Martell and a Citadel-educated resident of Oldtown, Westeros's tech and educational hub. By night, she is The Sphinx, one of the most renown hackers on the dark web and 1/4 of an elite company of contract killers comprised of Oberyn Martell's 4 eldest daughters. These are her adventures.


**Author's Note:** _"Leave Her to Her Game" is a series of one-shots following Sarella's adventures navigating the ever-intense politics of Westerosi crime families and the dark underworld of the lands beyond the Narrow Sea. Come for emphasis on people of color in the ASOIAF universe, including PROPER treatment of Dorne and exploration of remote locations like Qohor and the Summer Isles. Stay for sneaky canonical references from my favorite book of the series, "A Feast for Crows."_

_Stories are based on the universe created by xdarksistahx in her AO3-published story "it's only me & you."_

**Lights Out in Qohor**

History tells stories of Old Qohor. Stories of dark, sinister arts.

It's said that in ancient times inhabitants of the old stone-encased city worshipped a giant black goat and practiced blood magic and necromancy.

Tonight, however, Qohor is full of light.

For the last two weeks, Qohor, host of the Essosi World Cup, is the center of the Eastern world with celebrities and dignitaries from Braavos to Yiti pouring into the city. There are vibrant street festivals by day and riotous pubs and thumping rooftops by night. If there is any darkness, it lives in the corners where the wealthy indulge in vices; a pill here, a bump there, the occasional lifted skirt or opened zipper. The type of atmosphere that was just right for the Red Viper's adult daughters.

Sarella and her sisters have been in the city for four days. The first night, they watch a quarter-final between Norvos and Qarth from the plush comfort of a suite at the Qohorick Stadium. The following night, Obara leaves with the star of the Vaes Dothrak team after the sisters share a VIP section with him and his rowdy teammates. They attend a poolside brunch with Lyseni champagne and a sweaty basement party with Summer Island rum and a chiseled, chestnut brown man from Ebonhead who keeps her company until dawn's light.

Qohor will owe them nothing when they leave, Sarella thinks from the rear of a black van parked a quarter-mile from the stadium.

The ground quakes with anticipation of the semi-final match between Vaes Dothrak and Volantis. The Dothraki are the clear favorites, but Volantis is the fairy tale of this year's competition-piecing together a series of scrappy wins that have fans questioning the Dothraki's dominance. Volantine pride is on full display in Qohor and officials from both political parties-Tigers and Elephants-are here to bathe in their return to glory.

Sarella clicks a few keys on her laptop to zoom in on the field. The players are lined up on opposite sides, their respective banners waving in the crisp night breeze under bright floodlights.

She speaks into her headpiece. "Five minutes, ladies." On her screen, she sees Tyene in a luxury suite, with 22 inches of bone straight, jet black hair swinging down her back and a serving tray in her hand. Nymeria sits in the stands, in a hunter green football jersey and matching green face paint. Obara cruises an aisle in a black security uniform.

"Warrior," Sarella calls. "Confirm your position."

"Warrior, in position," Obara replies.

"Smith, confirm your position."

"Smith, in position," Nymeria replies.

"Stranger, confirm your position."

"Stranger, in position," Tyene replies.

Sarella looks up at her timer. "Ready to move in 5...4...3...2..."

Just as it was in the old tales, Downtown Qohor is shrouded in darkness. The following morning, newspapers across Essos will say the Black Goat claimed the lives of the Volantine Triarchy.

* * *

_"Following the shocking assassination of the Volantis Triarchs at the Essosi World Cup, civilian rebel soldiers have infiltrated the city's famed Black Wall, demanding open and fair elections for all Volantine citizens..."_

Sarella still can't believe they pulled it off, even as it's all over the news. The Sand Snakes have offed more than their share of infamous characters-noted sex traffickers, corrupt noblemen-but a public hit crippling one of the world's oldest, most brutal regimes is another matter. Prior to this job, they are the second most deadly assassins in the field. After last night, they will be an undisputed number one.

Obara sidles next to her at the kitchen bar, eyes hidden behind black sunglasses as wide as her face, nursing a cup of steaming nutmeg coffee. Sarella doesn't have to ask what kept her sister up all night, recalling the hulking, bronze-toned man who left their condo that morning. "Think those Faceless Cunts will try to take the credit?" her older sister asks.

"No," she answers. "It was too loud, too flashy." She only wishes her work as the Sphinx wasn't separate from their jobs. Knocking out the power grid and cell towers at the Essosi World Cup is her best hack yet. "Has Nym spoken with her mother?"

Obara nodded. "She's safe. Officially, she's been on holiday in Myr for the last month."

Good, she thinks and makes a note for her pending update with their father.

"So..." Obara starts... "Should we discuss your lengthy conversation with a certain gentleman at that basement party?"

Sarella smirks. "Are we trading notes, Sister? I'd love to know if Khal whatshisface lives up to Dothraki hype."

"Not the man you bedded. That Westerosi Northman you were batting your eyelashes at."

"That was nothing. You know I don't do Westerosi." Barring her ill-advised tryst with that Hightower heir during her time at the Citadel, it was well-known among her family that Sarella required men she laid with to pass a paper bag test. No one lighter would do.

Obara pushed. "That's not how it looked with that Stark boy."

"Are you usurping Tyene as the Annoying Sister?"

"You have enough bad blood with the Tyrells. Don't add playing with Margaery's toys to the list."

There are legends about the old Martell/Tyrell enmity. Many feared it returned when their father grievously injured Wilas Tyrell in a fencing match as a teenager, though the men remained good friends after the incident. Her notorious fight with Leo Tyrell their freshman year at The Citadel, however, was anything but friendly. To this day, he wears the scar she gave him with a glass shard of a cider bottle after he called her mother a "monkey" and claimed, "The Dornish will fuck anything." Lady Olenna levied a healthy tax out of Oberyn over that one, though Sarella heard the old woman chuckled and said her asshole grandson got what he deserved.

"I have no interest in the Stark boy," she assures her sister. "He's looking for a new arms dealer after that mess with the Baratheons. Since he was in town for the Cup, I suggested he meet some of my countrymen." It wasn't her fault Robb Stark flirted as easily as he spoke. She doesn't bed pale Northmen; that doesn't mean she can't beguile one for fun.

"Tread carefully, Sarella. You know Father doesn't want us involved with the Westeros Families without his express permission."

Unlike her sisters, Sarella isn't completely detached from Westerosi politics. She frequently collects intel for Arianne and Doran, which is how she knows the Starks are allying with the Southern families for the pending war with the North. From what she gathered, the Sand Snakes would be recruited when the time came. But that wasn't her sisters' business until Oberyn said so. She sighs dramatically. "This was much more interesting when I thought we were discussing dick. Summer Island men actually_ do_ do it better, you know..."

When her big sister smiles, Sarella knows the interrogation is over for now. "Only if you don't enjoy a challenge," Obara quips.

The two are interrupted when Nymeria and Tyene bound into the kitchen, bags in hand. "We have to get out of here," Nymeria says, her face stern and determined.

"What's going on?"

"It's Arianne," Tyene seethes. "That shade-addicted lunatic Euron Greyjoy has kidnapped her, along with the Tyrell and Targaryen girls. Father wants us in Lys as soon as possible-"

Tyene doesn't finish the sentence before Sarella is on her feet, tablet in hand. "I need their last-known locations. I can cross-reference the security footage with port activity within the perimeter. There's a 90% chance they're traveling by boat."

Within moments, pulling off the most challenging job of their careers is erased as Oberyn's daughters scramble out of Qohor with one thing on their collective mind-saving their cousin. Just as Sarella suspected, the simmering tension in Westeros is boiling over. And the Sand Snakes are entering the fray.


End file.
